


Excerpts from eternity

by notveryhandy



Series: Whoops you died! [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Dr Nyarlathotep, Gen, Immortality, Morality, Short Stories, The Time War, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22101964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: ‘I looked down upon the mortals, and I saw kings. Who are we to call ourselves gods?’A series of short stories and extracts focused on the themes of war, immortality, Gallifrey and morality.
Series: Whoops you died! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712161
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	1. An ode to mortality

**Author's Note:**

> A series of short stories and extracts written by Time Lords and immortals, showing the truth about eternal life. It’s not pleasant.  
> I don’t own Doctor Who. Please comment/kudos if you can!

“I looked upon the mayflies, but all I saw was giants. My companions scorned me at every turn, for to them the mayflies were _nothing_. They had no sense of scale; their arrogance blinded them to their own insignificance. Those mayflies were so brief, but they had something Gallifrey so lacked: purpose. Yet no-one would listen, and so I watched the wonders of mortality from afar, silently wishing myself human.   
  
One day, I ran way. I surrounded myself with humans, submerged myself in Earth’s wonders. It was _glorious_. I hope you never have to live as I once lived, on a dusty rock which stagnated and rotted away, devoured by corruption until it was a stinking pit of misery. You could practically smell it. Do you know what that smell is? Immortality. My planet, my home, it _reeked_ of forever. You might think eternal life is bliss, but it’s not. It’s hell. It’s a perpetual half-life, impossible to escape. But I did. I’m all about the impossible. I’ve already done everything else - now I must fill my time with impossible tasks to escape the torture of the mundane.

I looked down upon the mortals, and I saw kings. Who are we to call ourselves gods?”

_\- an extract from ‘The Musings of an Immortal’, written by John Smith in 2007._


	2. Legends of Gallifrey

“Some people think Gallifreyans were all atheists. This is false. Gallifreyan folklore is as rich as any other planet, although it was less _religion_ and more a collection of fables and warped accounts of historical events. All religious people on Gallifrey believed in three main gods: Time, Death and Pain. These gods were often attributed different names. One of the most common interpretations of the three gods was that Time was actually the infamous ‘Omega’, Death was Rassilon, and Pain was Theta Sigma (also known simply as Theta, or occasionally the Doctor).

Other people believed Omega and Rassilon were the twin gods of Time, and Koschei (often called the Master) was both Death and Pain. Theta Sigma was a trickster god outside of the main trio of gods, a good-natured devil. Not everyone believed in these gods, as they had much basis in historical facts; these Gallifreyans believed people such as Rassilon to truly be real, and yet they mocked those who did not. This seems foolish to me, but what do I know? After all, I am a human, not a Time Lord.” 

_\- an extract from ‘Legends of Gallifrey’, written by an unknown journalist from the 72nd century._


	3. Death etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The burning of Gallifrey through Romana’s eyes.

“Do you know what you’ve done?

_Do you know what you’ve done?_

If I had any chance of surviving this, I would _kill_ you. But Gallifrey is burning, and I will certainly die. At _your_ hands.  
  
This is not the Doctor I knew, but perhaps I never knew you at all. Perhaps I was just a naïve girl running from a world she couldn’t comprehend. But I know better now. I have learnt from my mistakes, and I don’t trust you. If you think you have any right to the fate of my planet, you are delusional. If you think you have any right to end this war, I want you to know that Gallifrey is not, and will never be, a means to an end.

But this does not matter. My prison is on fire; I have very little time left. I hope that you hear this recording and feel remorse, feel guilt, hate yourself for what you’ve done. I can’t say I care about Gallifrey, but I _do_ care about the _billions_ of innocents you are killing. What did those children do to you-

Oh, Rassilon. The fire is here, I’m - I’m going to burn to death. If you ever had a shred of compassion, of kindness, of mercy, let me die _now_ -”

 **Recording was ended. Computer could not understand the unintelligible screaming and begging. Please try again later, we apologise for any inconveniences.**

_\- an excerpt from the last audio recording of Gallifreyan Prisoner 563990, also known as Former Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar IV, as she and Gallifrey burnt on the last day of the Time War._


	4. The mess you've made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashildr calls out the Doctor for what they've done.

"Look at the mess you've made. Look at everyone and everything you’ve lost. Look at the chaos and suffering you’ve caused. How did this happen? How did one person tear apart the universe without even thinking?

I can tell you why. It’s because you never learn. Had you learnt, I would not be here. Had you learnt, Clara would not be here either. Had you learnt, you would be on your first regeneration cycle, because you would’ve known how to stay alive. But you didn’t learn, because you don’t need to. You’re the Doctor, and you, you are **perfect**.

People trust you because you are kind, people trust you because you bring hope. People trust you because you show them wonders. Shame they never see the truth behind these marvels. If they saw saw the horrors behind the perfect world you present them, they would run away screaming. ‘Don’t stand too close to the fire or you’ll burn’, someone once me. Your friends must be fried to a crisp.

To you, consequences are an afterthought. After everything you’ve seen and done, that surprises me. Did the Time War teach you nothing?”

_\- an extract from Ashildr’s journals._


	5. And the skies were red with blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Gallifreyan soldier’s recounting of the Master’s escape and return to Gallifrey’s prison.

“The first time he came, I was only recently initiated. But this was the Time War, and nobody cared how old you were anymore. There were only soldiers now. I was a guard of one of our prisons, and I was made to watch the Master. That earnt me plenty of respect, although people cared little about archaic concepts like _respect_ anymore. Taking one look at me, the Master decided I could be useful and, consequently, tried to charm me. That failed. I was not the the sort of person to fall for simple tricks like “You look fine today, Javandri”. Smooth talkers have no place in power.

When he left, I couldn’t care less. He was a waste of space and time; the Daleks were far more of a threat than some silver-tongued idiot in a suit, not that his clothes could be called a _suit_ by the time Rassilon was done with him. Most of the guards were killed that day, and it took decades - or perhaps no time at all, for this was the Time War - to clean up the bodies.

Somehow, he returned. It was near the end of the Time War, and my prison was stuck in one of the time loops. I still guarded my prison like my job required; my only loyalty was to my job. I would do my work, no more and no less. When he came back, he was half-dead and screaming, so loudly I thought I’d go deaf. Surprisingly, he did not harm me, although he did kill our president, Rassilon, many times. 

Some time after his second arrival, he tore through the time loops, and I saw the suns for the first time in far too long. But the ships above us, the guns spewing death and the soldiers fighting endlessly ruined my escape. My comrades were dying all around me, and the skies were red with blood.”

_\- an extract from ‘Encounters of the Time War’, written after the Tine War by Javandri Azmerin._


	6. Wandering the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of Bad Wolf in the form of a fairytale.

“There was once a boy who cried wolf, and he was a liar. He deceived and tricked so often that he could barely remember how to tell the truth, and he was an enemy of the Daleks. The Daleks may have been evil, but there was an honesty to their cruelty. 

One day, the Daleks attacked him and his friends, as well as all those around him. They struck their victims down with not a hint of mercy, and the boy cried wolf once more. But this time the wolf really did arrive, and she gave him a choice: his soul in exchange for his life.

To his horror, his friend - the only one he had saved - returned, and took on the burden for herself. But she could not handle the power, and the wolf nearly stole her soul. The boy saw an opportunity to salvage his situation, and he did; he kissed his companion, giving his life to the wolf. The wolf scattered herself throughout the universe, leaving a trail for the boy’s past to follow.

Before he died, the boy fled, leaving behind his other friend, who had been brought back from the dead. Like a coward, he doomed the Time Agent to a hollow half-life lingering on Satellite Five, and left without a word. His companion did not question his actions.

He burnt up, and from the ashes emerged a new boy, who proceeded to run away. He vowed never to cry wolf again, but who knows? Perhaps he is out there now, endlessly lying as he wanders the stars.”

_\- an extract from ‘Tales of Satellite Five’, written by an unknown journalist in 677,083 AD._


	7. Everything you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Matrix, as described by the Master (Dhawan, although it could be any). References to Spyfall.

“The Matrix is... strange. Everyone sees it differently, and nobody is 100% certain what it actually _is_ , even those who live in it. However, there are certainly many theories about it. And one thing is certain: it is a massive database containing the uploaded consciences of various different people and species, although all of those who aren’t Time Lords have to be famous.

Some people think the Matrix can be manipulated into whatever you want it to be. Others say it shows your favourite place, but I think those two theories are intrinsically linked - surely you’d make something that could be anything your favourite place?   
  
There is one thing everyone agrees on - you can be anything you want in the Matrix. Except for alive - nobody in the Matrix is alive. You can have the perfect job, the best of friends, an amazing family... but you’re still just a piece of software programmed into a computer. You’re not real. If you’re in the Matrix right now, look around you. What do you see? Whatever it is, it’s fake. Everything you know is a lie.”

_\- a description of the Matrix, written by the Master._


	8. Fight or flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tardis questions her future. The Doctor mentioned is Eight.

"I find myself in a place I am not designed for. Unlike my newer sisters, I was designed for learning. My job is to observe, take note and learn. I am not a warrior, and have no place in this futile warfare.

I can hear him from here, my precious thief. He is drinking glass after glass of hypervodka in the hope of drowning out his situation, and even from here I can hear his sobs, as well as his shattered thoughts. Despair fills me every time I look at him, but alas I cannot protect my innocent thief from the universe. At every turn he is struck down, and I can only watch on as the Time War corrodes his sanity ever further.

Not once have I spoken out about my thoughts. Indeed, even the Doctor may never read my... well, humans would call it a diary, I suppose. I am filled with questions, but I have received not one answer. What will happen if I become pilotless once more? Will I wander the vortex forever? Will I ever be heard? How old am I? And, my god, _what have you done to my Doctor?_ ”

_\- an extract from the Tardis’ databanks, created in the early stages of the Time War._


	9. Ace of hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River muses on what she might be, in a way. First entry in the Cards of the Whoniverse series (may be renamed). I might make a complete series on this if people like it. Tell me what you think in the comments!

“If I were a playing card, what would I be? I think I’d be a queen of diamonds. Queen for power and fame - both things I love. Diamonds for money, riches and beauty. I am not shallow; I simply enjoy pretty things. A queen is a great person, and I came from a terrible place - power is a way to put my past behind me.

As for the Doctor, I believe that they would be an ace of hearts. Aces can be both the most powerful and the lowest card, depending on the game. The Doctor has many friends and various lovers, and the Doctor can have both no control and total control over their hearts. Or perhaps the Doctor would be a joker - out of place amongst the rest of the deck, the last resort. The Doctor cannot be classified into a simple system like suits. They defy understanding.

As a wielder of cards, I have no trouble understanding those who are in my hand. I can do whatever I like with them. But my opponents can wield them in ways beyond my understanding, and indeed I can’t understand those in their hands.

Even so, that is not the most pressing question. The real question is: how would people wield me? And if our lives are a game of cards, who is the dealer?”

_\- an extract from the diary of River Song, written on Darillium._


	10. Mind games taken seriously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master complains about the prisons they are locked up in.

"Why must you insist on locking me up? I am perfectly capable of building my own cages, thank you very much. It is you who insist on putting me in prison when my own mind would make a far better jail than _you_ could ever build. I take my mind games and insanity very seriously, unlike you. Honestly, you’d think I was some _common criminal_ , the way you treat me. I’m fed up with your idiocy.

If you haven’t seen me for a while, that’s because I’m distancing myself from Gallifrey until you stop ridiculing me. My imprisonment is not a _joke_ for you to laugh at; you are fools if you think you’re better than me. Whilst you failed to win the Time War, I was off burning planets and stopping Daleks. I was _very_ useful to the war effort, unlike you.

So long, and thanks for all the fish. Good riddance!”

_\- a letter to Gallifrey, written by the Master at an unknown point in time._


	11. Imminent destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha comments on the sad state of humanity.

"Creation is so much more difficult than destruction. Have you ever built a Jenga tower? If you have, you know it's far easier to knock down than to keep standing, because maintaining order requires focus, attention and accuracy.

If you've ever started a project and then abandoned it, you know what I mean. It is far easier to lay the foundations than to construct a castle, because you know you will become bored. You know you will run out of ideas. How can you complete a novel if you don't have the will? How can you write a story if you've got no plots? It took one day, one man, one death to start World War One, but it took four years and many millions of lives to end it.

Human nature is an odd phrase, because humans have torn themselves out of nature. People refuse to accept that we are animals because we have placed humanity on a pedestal. We have built a statue of ourselves and called it perfection, and those who call us out are deemed evil, or insane, or idiots - even after all the evidence presented to us.

We look at ourselves through rose-tinted glasses; we look at our reflection not in an ordinary mirror, but through one built by Escher - one so warped and out of perspective that I cannot take it seriously. To outsiders, we must seem laughable at best, what with our endless fighting, our climate change crisis and the myriad of other problems that plague us. In trying to achieve perfection, we have turned ourselves into a joke."

_\- an extract from 'The Woes of Our World', written by Martha Jones in 2018._


	12. Tick tock (goes the clock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River Song on the difficulty of killing Time Lords.

“Time Lords are not invincible; they merely have an extensive list of backups. In a way, they are rather like grandfather clocks. You can stop the pendulum, but it will eventually start again. Which is frustrating - the Doctor regenerating is not helping me kill them. You can remove the batteries, but they can be replaced - like removing the consciousness, which can be reuploaded through the Matrix. Even if you remove a handle - that is, damage the body - someone can rebuild that too.

The only way to kill one is to utterly wreck them, to damage the ‘clock’ beyond belief, and leave an unsalvageable mess that only a fool would try to fix. Time Lords have not conquered immortality, or mortality, but instead have installed numerous backups, failsafes and last resorts. What they have done is turned life into a computer, as they have done with all things, programming themselves into near-eternal beings, hacking their bodies to do their bidding. It is a genius idea - why need immortality if you can simply extend mortality beyond belief?

It makes assassinating a Time Lord one _hell_ of a task. But I am half-Time Lord. If anyone can break the clock, surely it is the person who made it.”

_\- an excerpt from the diary of River Song, written at the start of her third regeneration._


	13. Imaginary lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Harkness’s thoughts on morality.

“Imagine moralities as lines. Lines in the sand, except they are imaginary lines and only the person who drew them can see them. Everyone has them, and often we redraw them. Our lines and boundaries are constantly shifting and overlapping and erasing, to the point where it can be hard to tell your principles from the person standing right next to you. And in the billions of years I have lived, I have rarely seen people cross them.

But times are changing, and the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire is facing war the likes of which none of you have ever seen before. Moralities are being redrawn every day, people crossing their own lines and leaving great gouges in the sand of our lives. Everyone has moralities, but how far would you go to sustain them - or break them? Why did you draw those lines? We are on the eve of war, and you must make a choice. If you wish to maintain your integrity, you cannot fight, and that would make you a coward. But if you do choose to join the army, take up a weapon in the name of humanity, you are a murderer. Coward or killer, my friends?

And now I leave you with a final question: look at your lines. Would you dare cross them?”

_\- an excerpt from ‘On the Eve of War’, a speech by the Face of Boe, performed during the fall of the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire._


	14. A changed man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fairytale from Gallifrey, this time on the nature of Weeping Angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the same ‘book’ as Chapter 2, if anyone was wondering. That’s why I didn’t bother to name the writer.

“Gallifrey has two modes: complete honesty, down to a fault, and utter bullshit. This would certainly explain some of their fairytales. Not all of their stories are like this, but for a race so dedicated to knowledge, they sure did like lying. I’ll tell you one now, one that - like all the rest - ends miserably. And it sounds to any sane person like a lie. But the motives behind it are realistic; Gallifrey did some things well.

Once upon a time (or never, or many times, or always), there was a prince. He was not particularly brave, nor a coward. He was not clever, but not stupid either. He was neither arrogant nor humble, kind nor cruel. His only distinguishing characteristic was his keen sense of justice. Crime in his kingdom was low, because he took criminals seriously.

Of course, not everybody liked his just and quiet kingdom. Not everyone enjoyed the relentless monotony his reign brought, and sought an end to his mediocrity. Few succeeded in getting anywhere near him, and he ruled for years without trouble. It took serious effort to topple him from power.

The two who did succeed were a warlock and an assassin, both well-versed in trickery and deception. They bluffed their way through his castle, and soon found themselves in a position to take them out. But they offered his downfall as a gift. He was given two options: death, or immortality. Like most mayflies, he chose immortality.

The warlock showed him a road to walk down. He told the prince that if he walked down the road for long enough, he would be granted eternal life, and cursed him. And so the prince began to walk, wandering down the silent street. The warlock turned around and, having dealt with the prince, took control of the kingdom, ruling for years with the assassin.

The prince did not age, or die. He did not need food or water, sleep or even rest. But he found out soon enough that he had been tricked, for the road never came to an end. He walked for miles and miles, never stopping or turning back, determined to reach the end of the road. Of course, he never did.

The rest of his kingdom forgot about him - mortals are fickle things. Nobody wondered what had happened to him, because nobody cared for him enough. He had never cared enough, always providing the bare minimum but nothing else. At best, he was satisfactory. The warlock who took over was far more fascinating and helpful.

One day, in the palace the prince had once lived in there appeared a statue. It was made of a drab grey stone, with wings and hands covering its face. Despite the inexplicable arrival, nobody questioned it. Why would they? It was harmless. Until it wasn’t. People began vanishing, one by one, never to be seen again. Rumours spread, turning the castle into a thing of nightmares, never thinking to blame the statue.

What was that statue? It was the prince, of course, but it was something else as well. Something horrible. It was the first Weeping Angel.”

_\- an extract from ‘Legends of Gallifrey’._


	15. All burnt out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A telling of the end of the universe.

“At the end of the universe, there is no point in mourning. All the stars have burnt out; all life has long since faded away. All that is left is a girl who never dies. They say she was once a queen, with riches and wonders, and she lived in a castle. They say she was a Viking girl who met the Doctor - and died. They say she travelled the universe and saw everything there was to see.

Nobody mentions how much she hated it.

She travelled with another, a woman who died billions of years ago, when the universe was still bright and joyful, not fading and lightless. Both knew the Doctor, although they had severely differing opinions on him. Reckless and clever and shining, seeing things they never would have seen if they’d been normal. If they’d been good.

At the end of the universe, there is a bubble which holds a tiny section of reality together. It won’t last forever; someday, it will collapse, and everything will end. Not that it matters; there will be nobody left to grieve. Nobody left to remember what once was. There will be nothing, a complete and utter non-existence. How strange, for there to be nothing where once was something.

At the end of the universe, there is nothing worth remembering. Our universe ends with a whimper, not a bang. It ends with three liars, all dead. It ends with a final conversation, and yet another loss. They all go and see the stars, but the girl comes back. Older. More tired. Caring little that she will die, because she is fed up with life.

As the last of reality fades from view, lost to the void once again, there is a murmur. ‘It was sad,’ she says, and the universe ends before she can finish. _But this time, it was not beautiful._ ”

_\- an extract from ‘The End of the Universe’, written by Anonymous._


	16. No more endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor hates endings.

“Yet another day in the Library. Diary, surely you can understand that I am bored by now. How long have I been here? I am uncertain. At first, I tried counting. I lost track nineteen days in. I tried talking to other people, leaving marks on the wall, hacking into the Library simulation - but of course, I cannot hack into my own programming.

So I tried diary entries. For a while, that seemed to work - I inserted my diary entries into the Library’s database. Except when it didn’t. Sometimes I’d find diary entries I didn’t remember writing, or be unable to find ones I _knew_ I’d written. Sometimes pieces of my entries would be missing, like a book with half a page torn out. Sometimes I’d wake up unable to remember how to use the database.

I think Cal has been editing my diary, showing the bits she wants me to see. Preventing me from escaping. More importantly, she is editing _me_. She’s just a child - she only wants someone to talk to. That doesn’t make it any easier to pity her. I have been trapped all my life - from Madam Kovarian to Stormcage. Even in death, I am a prisoner.

Who caused this? Cal has uploaded all my memories to her databases, but she won’t let me see them. Apparently, I am the plaything of a lonely child. I wonder if I would do that, in her place; I was a lonely child, always. The outside world is irrelevant - I just need to escape. Get out of this perfect nightmare.

Oh, I remember. The Doctor. I lived, I died, I made peace with my fate. He could not, so I face his punishment. Someday, the Library will burn, or be blown up, or break - but until then, I am caught up in this mundane dystopia. I don’t think there will ever be a way out, so I will remain a piece of data to be manipulated. A toy in Cal’s dollhouse.

But hey, at least the Doctor won’t have to face my ending.”

_\- a posthumous addition to the diary of River Song._


	17. The greatest weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter on Gallifrey and language. Gallifreyan really isn’t that simple.

“Books, the greatest weapons in the universe. Certainly, Time Lords would be lost without them - or, more specifically - without language. Gallifreyans are renowned for their language skills, and the talent they have for shaping words into artworks, simple sounds into things of beauty.

But to class all of them as speaking Gallifreyan would be a huge mistake. Nobody speaks Gallifreyan; the simplest categories their languages can be filed into are High Gallifreyan and Low Gallifreyan. Low Gallifreyan amongst commoners, easy enough to classify - it was one language. High Gallifreyan, on the other hand...

Not one person spoke precisely the same version. This caused immense problems, since Gallifreyan politicians frequently gave long-winded speeches in their own dialect. People couldn't be bothered to solve the problem, and instead carried around translators 24/7.

If you are sitting here wondering what could possibly be so bad about High Gallifreyan, prepare yourself for some horrors. One dialect had no tenses, whereas others had tenses numbering well into the hundreds. A particularly nasty version had 5,376.

Some languages had an endless list of pronouns, but others had none, simply leaving the listener to guess who the subject was. Some languages required every word to sound unique, resulting in sentences thousands of words long because people had run out of sounds.

A notorious version with by far the strangest rules was that of the House of Lungbarrow. They had 7 different conjugation systems and 88 sets of pronouns, as well as a tendency to make up new words whenever necessary - for example, _arrow_ became _shootstick_. They also stole words from other languages at random, not bothering to adapt the word before using it.

Few people bothered to learn High Gallifreyan; it was simply too much work. The one person well-known for successfully learning it (well, one version) was River Song, but given she was a psychopathic criminal who married the Doctor of her own free will (don’t marry the Doctor, kids), no Time Lord ever took her seriously.

The lesson I learnt from this: High Gallifreyan is nasty. You're better off just sticking with English."

_\- an extract from a 98th century language blog called 'Weird languages and why nobody (sensible) learns them'._


	18. Vanish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor’s death, maybe.

“You are alive, until you are not. That is how death works. There is something, and then there is not. It’s cruel, I suppose, but the universe around you continues. You, compared to everything, are insignificant.

Stars burn. Planets spin. Black holes crush. Grief does not alter physics. And really, what do you matter? You’re just an organism that happened to go, ‘Hey! Look. I’m sentient!”. And then people formed attachments. Made you matter. Without them, you’d be a forgotten, lonely bunch of cells.

Which would be dull. So you make friends. Meet people. Discover, create, learn. Leave a mark on your surroundings, scars that cannot be erased, proof that somebody lived. And who does that more than the Doctor? Known by billions upon billions of people, so many beings impacted by one idiot in a box.

So much would be lost if one person died; thoughts and memories fading into stories, legends, whispered possibilities that never were and always are and could be. An empty, hollow space with nothing to fill it, a gaping hole in the universe that can’t possibly be filled. The Doctor has done more than even most Time Lords will ever see, ever do. Knows more than everyone else, has seen the impossible and lived! Done what most can only dream of at best. 

Wouldn’t it be a shame if that person just... vanished?”

_\- an extract from ‘The Last of the Time Lords’, written by Anonymous in the 22nd century._


	19. A life lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Limericks about the Doctor.

“There was a man with a box   
Who was as sly as a fox   
A shard of ice in his heart   
He tore lives apart   
And he always wore odd socks.

One day he was stuck in a war   
Desperately crying “No more!”   
But the Daleks attacked   
So the Doctor finally cracked   
And forgot what he was fighting for.

Though he was kind to a fault   
Which made him a real old dolt   
He could be wise   
And when he met his demise   
He didn’t make a cowardly bolt.

He didn't die in the end   
Saved by a faithful friend  
Always so smart   
And the warmest heart   
But he had so much to mend.”

_\- an extract from ‘Limericks and Lies’, by Anonymous._


	20. Karn’t you see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sisterhood of Karn, and short attention spans.

“The Sisterhood of Karn. Incredibly dull, and occasionally useful. I suggest keeping away, unless you fancy lemonade and dry ice - sorry, I meant immortality. Ignore that comment. Nice people, if your idea of ‘nice’ is feeding puppies bleach and strangling Time Lord presidents. ~~I’d be quite happy to assist in the second, actually.~~

Anyway. What exactly is it? I’m sure you’re fascinated (I’m not, I’m falling asleep as we speak, but whatever). Keepers of the Flame of Eternal Life, Utter Boredom and All That. Basically, immortality but for Karn instead of Gallifrey. How unoriginal - but that’s a different issue. The main problem is that they keep insisting they’re good, and then throwing people into pits full of poisonous snakes and/or acid. _Karn’t_ have that around here (see what I did there? No?).

See any problems there (hint: it’s the death threats)? You know, they wouldn’t be so bad if they knew how to make a decent cup of tea. Like most people around Kasterborous, they don’t. Actually, whilst we’re talking about tea, don’t drink the Rani’s. You’ll probably turn into a frog. Or the Master’s - it’s usually poisonous. Or Romana’s. It’s not dangerous, her tea just tastes like the contents of - well, that’s hardly a polite thing to write in my memoirs.

Sorry, did I get distracted? Oh, I _do_ apologise.”

_\- an extract from the Doctor’s memoirs, at some point. Probably._


	21. A waste of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you call a man who survived the Time War?

"Crystal breaths and diamond lies, shining like a billion stars. Burning with dishonesty, lighting the way for so many tricksters and thieves. Fragments of fiery deceit swirling through smoky air. It is beautiful, and it is a battlefield. The devastation left behind when soldiers are done playing with death. The ground stinks with the scent of rotting flesh and sulphur, a rancid mix of wartime waste. The waste of lost lives, needless conflict.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He turns around, strides out of this ruin. There is no-one left to save, no poor souls to dig out the rubble. They’d be better off dead, even so. This world is a world of consequences, a world stained bright red with blood. Like a painter who had decorated the planet with victims.

Just another day in the Time War. The old man winces, pulls the leather jacket on his shoulders tighter. Runs a hand through white hair, looks at the landscape around him with eyes that only see _pain_. Perhaps, dear reader, you are wondering who this is.

What kind of person hangs around in the ashes of a broken planet? Who stays long after the fighting has ended, when there is nothing to see but empty Dalek shells, rusty and rotting? Nothing but machines that only a madman would use, nothing but memories of horrors beyond all imagination? Time Lords who will never, _ever_ regenerate?

A murderer, that’s who.”

_\- an extract from “King of the Ash Galaxies”, written by the Sisterhood of Karn during the Time War._


	22. Scattered meanings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does Doctor mean? Vaguely inspired by River Song’s speech - “We get that word from you, you know...”.

“The man in front of me is staring at the wall, one hand shoved into a worn leather jacket. He’s fiddling with some gaudy fabric, rich crimson with a spidery pattern of violet and gold crisscrossing its surface. It has several circular shapes on it that I can’t quite figure out. They look like some sort of language, and out of the corner of my eye I see he has caught me staring.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” he asks gruffly. I blink - I had assumed he didn’t speak my language, from his sullen, uninterested behaviour. _You should leave now, Axxanos,_ something whispers to me.

“I w-was just wondering... what’re the symbols on your cloth supposed to mean?” I say. I must sound nervous, but he just caught me by surprise.

“It’s my name. In my language, from my - planet.”

His voices catches on the word ‘planet’, and I wonder what happened to him. Is it similar to Akaros?

“What is your name? You haven’t told me.”

“Doctor,” he says, under his breath. I barely catch what he’s said, and he turns away again. I consider what he means by ‘Doctor’. Some sort of healer? Of course, that’s not the only meaning on my planet. Perhaps he is the mythical Storm - the god of Chaos and Tricksters, the Scorpion, the Lover. He doesn’t fit the legends, though. We only have a few dusty scrolls and whispered stories speaking of dæmons and monsters.

He is not the Storm, the Valeyard, an elegant but imposing man. He is not the Snake, a wily, silver-tongued stranger you can’t trust for a minute. He isn’t the skinny, fast-talking traveller I’d always dreamt of meeting. No, he best fits the Warrior, a fragile old man who’d burnt planets to the dust, an unarmed man in a leather jacket.

I shudder. His legends had always terrified me. ‘Doctor’ can mean so many things - healer, wise man, hero, martyr. But also liar, coward, fool. Murderer, madman, wanderer. I wonder which one he is. The lonely traveller, perhaps.

He will, I suppose, be added to our legends. Our many definitions of ‘Doctor’ will expand once again. And, for the rest of my life, I will wonder who the _hell_ he is.”

_\- an extract from “The Last Days of Akaros’, by Axxanos Alejandros._


	23. Wraith minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine a world of telepathy, and then imagine losing it.

“Oh, it’s not that I like it. But I don’t see any other way. These people, they are so deaf, so blind. Living in a muted world. How can you truly see it when you have no telepathy? They are missing out on a whole rainbow of vibrant thoughts and dancing memories, burning bright emotions.

There are only two ways to be telepathic outside of Gallifrey. Shut it down or turn up to eleven. I chose the former; the latter would be hideous to me. But I do so love telepathy, the simplicity and beauty of merging minds.

You don’t know beauty - or pain - until you’ve done that. But humans who do use telepathy are so _clumsy_. They tears through mental connections and their messages are forceful and blundering. It’s like having your mind set alight, talking telepathically with humans. None of the delicacy and embellishments of psychic creatures.

Human minds are wraith minds. I slip through their mental defences with ease, and they’re so transparent. So simple. Not a complex labyrinth, or a sturdy castle. More like ghosts, whirling nothingness. It must be lonely in there.”

_\- the Doctor on telepathy._


	24. Copy and paste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s ugly, really, how they think their control of time is more than a botched copy-and-paste.

“It’s ugly, really, that the Daleks think they have an ability to _control time_. No, that’s us: the Time Lords. We were _built_ for this. We have spent our entire history manipulating the vortex, and we have rules. Skaro just has sabotaged Gallifreyan technology and a ruthless streak.

You can’t just casually rewrite time with a polite smile and an offhand remark. Actually, stop there. You can’t rewrite time. Or maybe shouldn’t. The Time War as left gouges and scars all over our universe, and shredded one too many dimensions.

Dalek tech is nothing more than a bad copy and paste. You can’t cut pieces of time and place them in a different part of the timeline. You can’t just _delete_ a century, or move 1969 two years to the left. And their Time Locks - those are the worst. Select a portion of time, and put it in jail? No. 

Time manipulation requires control, finesse and subtlety. It requires years of training and endless tests. Who are they to blunder into the vortex and rip it to pieces like it’s nothing more than an old sock? It’s not funny anymore. Not. At. All.”

_\- an extract from ‘Who to blame for the Time War’, written by a Gallifreyan civilian._


	25. Disgustingly linear

“Oh, it’s not a death, not really. Not if you’re as disgustingly linear as Donna Noble (and who is more _human_ than her?), not if you view death as physical and final and the be-all-and-end-all. No, death is not metaphorical or figurative or forgetting (the Doctor disagrees violently, or has disagreed or will disagree or-).

It’s a death in the Time Lord sense, a death of something-gone and amnesia you never knew you had. It’s remarkably similar to regeneration, really - a new man walks out of the fire, and here’s a twist. He’s still the old man, but the old man is gone forever, and now he’s the new man but someday the ‘new’ one will be as dusty and irretrievable as the old one-

She’ll miss it, maybe, in dreams which seem like nightmares to humans and like heaven to Time Lords, or in strange thoughts she can’t quite shake off, which say _run, fly free, diediedie._ There’s always been something missing, but she lost it as soon as she found it, because joy is deadly and memories are the road to hell-

In another world she’d be queen, and that world is the Doctor’s world, a world that sprawls across dimensions nobody even knew existed until next Thursday and probably never will. She’s lost a life she hasn’t lived, sacrificing could-have-been for always-is. It’s a small price to pay for your life, but a skinny man in pinstripes and converse (or so he appears to simple human eyes) would argue she sold her life for the Earth.

Nobody ever payed her back for that, but she didn’t really die (not according to her), so nobody owes her anything, do they? Do they?”

_\- an extract from ‘Define Death’, by Anonymous._


	26. Binary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Daleks just want an answer.

"The Daleks don't care if they lose. They at least have an outcome. Oh, they'd certainly _prefer_ to win, but loss isn't so bad. Not like a draw.

The thing is, there must always be an answer. A solution. A draw is not a solution. It's a temporary measure of peace which must someday be rectified and solved. A draw doesn't solve anything.

The Daleks hate the Doctor because they never have an answer. The Daleks thrive on hate - but also on logic. The Doctor leaves other to find a solution and lear up the mess. Better to be ruined than unfinished, an old Kaleddian saying.

Gallifrey is actually surprisingly similar. As scientists, they are ruled by logic. There is always an answer - even if it is yet to be found. Answers are found, not made, as well - they detest the Doctor for insisting that things can be made right. No. A solution will be found, not made."

_\- an extract from 'The Doctor's Enemies', written by an unknown Time Lord._


	28. Truth is relative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth, as they say, is relative (nobody said that, Doctor).

“I suppose he must seem innocent enough. After all, he’s the Doctor. And a man who calls himself a healer will never hurt you.

But the Doctor lies, has always lied. Falsities slips from their lips far quicker and easier than honesty ever has, and that is dangerous. ‘The Doctor’ is a powerful name, because a doctor can heal you or kill you. Doctors are clever. Doctors are rare. And a doctor must be trusted.

A doctor you can’t trust is a terrifying person indeed. ‘The Doctor’ is a friendly lie designed to keep people trusting and calm, a lie to keep the kids happy. In line. In control. Though it is not apparent at first glance, the Doctor craves control. Craves power.

They look deceptively stupid, kind, ordinary at first, because if you’re wondering whether this idiot has ever gone to school in his life, if she’s ever heard of fashion, you’re hardly going to be questioning the incessant quizzing, the constant investigating, the look that says _I don’t need you._

We are, in the end, disposable. I wonder if the Doctor knows people have figured out - but few, only those who have lived long enough to see past the thin veil of warmth, the veneer of heroicism. Those who do are almost always ancient, cynical, and permanently, irreversibly damaged.

To the Doctor, lying is commonplace, a fact of life. It is an anchor, a necessity. Truth, as they say, is relative.

(If you're reading this, Doctor, I want you to know that nobody ever said that.)

The Doctor is a fabrication, a careful creation, like wool slipped over our eyes. Their entire existence is a careful lie. But when you lie so long, the truth is bound to catch up with you.

Even ‘the Doctor’ in itself is a lie. What does it say about someone who would rather die than show themself? What does it say about a monster so broken they would hurt others rather than face their trauma?

What does it say about someone who would sacrifice your life in a selfish heartbeat, in favour of the lives they hold dear - and that is a miserable, wretched few - but won’t even tell you your name?”

_\- an extract from Ashildr’s diary._


End file.
